"Then it's all right," he said. "And I promise you one thing now: I'll
never put you up against a proposition like that again."
He picked up his sandwich and dropped the matter from his mind. Morris
stood still a minute longer, started to speak, stopped, and at last
brought out what he had to say.
"And you won't think every man you meet is a beast, will you, Miss
Iverson?" he asked.
I shook my head. I didn't seem to be able to say much. But it seemed
queer that both he and Mr. Drake had said almost the same thing.
"Because," said Morris, "in his heart, you know, every man wants to be
decent."
I filed that idea for future reference, as librarians say. Then I
asked them the question I had been asking myself for hours. "Do you
think Mr. Drake really _was_ teaching me a--a terrible lesson?" I
stammered.
The two men exchanged a look. Each seemed to wait for the other to
speak. It was Gibson who answered me. He had opened the door, and was
watching us with no sign of his usual wide and cheerful grin.
"The way you tell it," he said, "it's a toss-up. But I'll tell you how
it strikes me. Just to be on the safe side, and whether he lied to you
or not, I'd like to give Henry F. Drake the all-firedest licking he
ever got in his life."
"You bet," muttered Hurd, through the last mouthful of his sandwich.
Mr. Morris didn't say anything, but the bunches on his jaw-bones
seemed larger than ever as he turned to his desk.
I looked at them, and in that moment I learned the lesson that follows
the primer lesson. At least one thing Mr. Drake had told me was
true--all men were not wolves.